Get Lucky

by Hugh Macnab

astonishment. The room was hugely cavernous, with a high ceiling and walls so far back in all directions as to be virtually out of sight, and there were literally thousands, or perhaps even millions – it was impossible to tell - of people present, all apparently locked in simultaneous debate with each other.

  They were still standing there, transfixed to the spot, when a brightly coloured parrot landed on the ground just in front of them. ‘Yes?’ it squawked, sharply enough to be heard over the background noise and through their hands - which had remained firmly clamped to their ears. ‘Don’t give me any grief, just tell me your business?’

  ‘We’d like to talk with whoever is in charge of the World Council,’ asked Shylock, realising how stupid he must look with his hands over his ears, but steadfastly refusing to remove them.

  ‘In charge!’ the parrot squawked. ‘You’re looking at them. Democracy in action.’

  ‘No, you don’t understand,’ said Shylock. ‘We don’t want to meet with all the council, just the person in charge.’

  ‘No, young man,’ replied the parrot. ‘You don’t understand. There is no-one in charge. This is democracy in action. Everyone is in charge, or at least thinks they are.’

  ‘But that’s impossible,’ interjected Permission. ‘That’s not democracy, that’s anarchy.’

  ‘Oh my goodness, that’s an old debate. If you wish to participate I can give you the chamber co-ordinates and you can simply join in?’ offered the parrot.

  ‘No, thank you,’ replied Shylock, on Permission’s behalf. ‘Are we to understand you properly, there is no single person in charge of the council?’

  ‘Correct,’ replied the parrot. ‘And my responsibility is merely that you get directed to the correct co-ordinates to allow you to participate in whatever democratic debate you have in mind.’

  ‘But how are decisions ever made?’ asked Permission, totally bemused.

  ‘Decisions!’ answered the parrot in his now familiar squawk. ‘We haven’t had any of these for a long time – not since black Monday that is.’

  ‘You mean the stock market crash back in the late twentieth century?’ asked Shylock.

  ‘No, no. Not that one,’ said the parrot. ‘I mean when the infernal internet spread around the world like a plague.’

  ‘The internet?’ asked Bb.

  ‘Oh, just think of it as a world wide communication system which allowed everyone in the world to talk to each other and to trade on a one-to-one basis,’ explained the parrot. ‘It revolutionised the way the world operated. Governments crashed, international boundaries ceased to exist, countries disappeared - all this within a single century. Society as it was known, literally fell apart.’

  ‘And the world council?’ asked Shylock, pretty sure he wasn’t going to like the answer.

  ‘As I said before,’ replied the parrot, opening one wing and flapping it to indicate the surrounding scenes of bedlam. ‘What you see, is what you get. This is it!’

  But there must be someone in charge, somewhere?’ Shylock asked, almost pleading.

  ‘Nope!’ squawked the parrot. ‘But if you tell me your issue – the thing you came here to resolve – I can try to direct you as best as possible.’

  ‘Money!,’ said Bb. ‘We’ve come to ask for money. Lots of it.’

  ‘Well, if you mean hard-currency, that’s easy,’ said the parrot. ‘That was eliminated shortly after country borders disappeared. The individual governments could no longer control the flow of hard-currencies, collect taxes, provide for local resources – you know, hospitals, schools and so on. So virtually over-night the world converted to electronic-cash and a distributed e-cash world repository came into being.’

  ‘So there is no hard currency anywhere in the world?’ asked Shylock, fearing that there may now be no possible solution to his problem.

  ‘Not a cent, penny, rupee or any other kind,’ the parrot confirmed. ‘We just don’t use it anymore.’

  ‘But, what did you do with it all?’ asked Bb.

  ‘Oh, that’s a good question. I’ll have to go and find out the answer to that one. Give me a few moments, I’ll be right back,’ said the parrot, spreading his wings and taking off.

  ‘This doesn’t sound too hopeful,’ said Shylock.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Permission, taking his hand. ‘We’ll still find some way to repay Earth’s debt.’

  ‘I’m not so sure now,’ said Shylock, shoulders sagging. ‘Stupid of me, really. Dragging you both into this whole silly affair. Who was I to think that I could solve Earth’s debt to Wilderment. Me, I’m just an ordinary guy out to buy a carton of milk, and now…look at me! Goodness knows where I’ve been and how much damage I’ve done. Dabbling in things about which I know nothing.’

  ‘That’s not true!’ rebuked Permission. ‘You’ve done lots of good things on your travels. You helped me for one.’

  ‘Don’t be down on yourself,’ added Bb. ‘Remember, it was the Creator who arranged for you to enter Wilderment in the place. You were exChanged for Change, and everything that has happened has been just that – change!’

  ‘Change!’ squawked the parrot, with one final landing flourish of the wings. ‘I thought I told you that there was no hard-currency!’

  ‘We weren’t talking about that kind of change,’ explained Bb. ‘Did you find out what happened to all the money?’

  ‘Yes, I did,’ replied the parrot. ‘It is being stored in the department of financial affairs against the possibility that it may once again be required, although I consider that a most unlikely thing to occur.’

  ‘So, all of the Earth’s hard-currency is in one place?’ asked Shylock.

  ‘And nobody’s using it?’ added Bb.

  ‘That’s what I said,’ agreed the parrot.

  ‘And who is responsible for caring for all of that money?’ asked Shylock.

  ‘Why, the safe-keeper, of course,’ said the parrot. ‘Now, are you coming in, or are you not?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ replied Shylock. ‘I think we’re going elsewhere, thanks all the same.’

  After returning to the council building entrance, they once more regarded the plaque on the wall, searching for the department of financial affairs and finding it on floor 223. Permission pressed the call button for the adjacent lift.

  Shylock and Bb looked around the entrance hallway admiring some of the fine workmanship, while Permission waited in front of the lift, watching the indicator slowly arriving at ground level.

  The ground-level lamp lit, a bell rang, the doors swished open and Permission screamed!

  F-ant-astic

  Shylock and Bb turned just in time to catch Permission, fainting and collapsing to the floor. At first, their attention focussed on lowering her to the ground, and they paid no attention to the lift's single occupant, until he spoke.

  ‘So, are you getting in or not?’ said the voice from the lift. ‘There’s other folks waiting you know.’

  Together, Shylock and Bb looked towards the voice and immediately understood Permission’s reaction. There, staring at them, stood a person-sized red ant, antenna waving in their general direction.

  ‘You’re…an ant!’ stuttered Shylock.

  ‘Genus Atta, if you must know,’ replied the ant. ‘So much for introductions. Now are you coming or not?

  ‘Of course we’re coming,’ said Permission, clearly embarrassed, but pushing herself to her feet with Bb’s assistance.

  ‘Well, come along then. Let’s get going,’ the ant repeated, standing aside to let them enter the lift. ‘So, where can I take you?’

  ‘What’s that ghastly smell?’ asked Bb, nose twitching.

  ‘It’s coming from that over there,’ said Permission, clasping her nose and pointing towards an earthy mound covered in mushroom-like fungal growth.

  ‘Lunch,’ explained the ant, unconcerned. ‘Now, where are you going?’

  ‘Department of Financial Affairs,’ replied Shylock, pinching his nose firmly shut with on
e hand.

  ‘Oh, no’ groaned their new-found guide, briefly fluttering it’s antennae.

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’ asked Shylock, watching as the ant reached out one long tendril and pressed a button with 223 on it.

  ‘Amazonian raiders’, replied their guide. ‘Anywhere below level 200.’

  ‘Below?’ asked Bb. ‘You mean we’re going down, not up?’

  ‘Up?’ repeated the ant. ‘What do you think we are? We tunnel and dig, we don’t build up into the sky.’

  ‘Ah, sorry,’ muttered Bb, feeling a little stupid.

  ‘I don’t understand. How are you able to talk?’ asked Permission, perplexed.

  ‘Oh,’ replied the ant. ‘We’ve been talking for well over a hundred years now. Since shortly after the fifth world war in fact. That’s when the armistice was signed and one of the terms included a few genetic alterations. The ability to speak English was one of those, and now we’re all born with elementary English already installed in our memories.’

  ‘So what was that you mentioned about raiders,’ asked Shylock, aware that they were already some twenty floors down without having felt any movement what-so-ever.

  ‘Oh, I shouldn’t worry about them. I can get us past without too much trouble. They’re Amazon ants, and they are constantly trying to capture us and take us back to their nest to do the menial work they don’t like to do themselves.’

  ‘Like operating a lift?’ suggested Bb.

  ‘Bb!’ exclaimed Permission. ‘That’s terribly rude.’

  ‘It’s al-right madam,’ replied the ant. ‘I’m quite used to human insults, and anyway, not many of us get to work with